From the sidelines
by neogrotesque
Summary: How could he possibly remain unbiased, when people he knew were getting hurt? A little speculated insight into Rabi's past.


**Notes:** Uwah! Thank you to everybody who comments on my crappy writings, both here and on various LJ communities. This is actually the first series I've been able to write fanfiction for, so feedback is greatly appreciated, and I've had some great responses, so thank you very much.

This is a random image I had in my head after rereading the translation for chapter 58 and thinking about some of the things Bookman was saying to Rabi. And because we know next to nothing about Rabi's childhood so far, I went with my instincts and made something up. If any details here turn out to be completely wrong when Hoshino lets us know more, then, oh well.

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"Get out of the way!"

A flurry of figures crashed through the door; finders with their arms looped around a slumped, bleeding body. They were shouting for assistance, sweeping the horrifically injured exorcist along the hallway, returning abruptly from a short-lived mission. A sickly trail of blood spattered onto the floor after them, becoming smudged by a dozen footsteps as more helpers came forward, supporting the weight of the wounded between them. Their yells reverberated against the walls, arguing amongst each other over whether to take the exorcist to the infirmary, or to a coffin.

And huddled against the wall, there was a boy. He watched the commotion with a single green eye, his back pressed against the side of the corridor and a hand coming up to brush aside the red hair that obscured his vision further. An open book dangled in his other hand, study abandoned in favour of investigating the disturbance. He'd heard people returning from missions before and he knew they were often very dangerous, but this was different. This time, he'd caught a glimpse of the limp form among the helpers, crimson staining that dark uniform further, the white crest of the Dark Religious Organisation almost unrecognisable behind the frenzied slashes that tore it apart. This time, staring up at the figures, he'd seen the vacant, endless look in the eyes of the soldier that he'd seen leave just a few hours previous, looking so _alive_. Was he dead now, already...?

As the group bustled past him, bickering and crying, a surge of thoughts raced into his mind. They were asking for help - surely, despite being young, small, and often overlooked, he could provide that? Yet his determination to step forward and follow them was met with a nagging, elderly voice at the back of his head - _"You are to remain unaffected!"_ How could he, when the very people they were supposed to be supporting were coming back mangled and defeated?

The book dropped from his hand, and he lurched forward.

"Rabi."

A firm hand fell on his shoulder, pulling him back. Rabi slowly turned around, his eye beginning to blur with tears, meeting a stern face with hollow, darkened eyes.

"But he needs hel--" he started pleading, but was cut off immediately.

"What have I been telling you, boy? You are not to become involved in this war!"

Rabi looked back over his shoulder towards the crowd as they moved on without him. They reached a bend in the corridor and turned the corner, their frantic voices beginning to fade away into the depths of the building. To the infirmary, or...?

"You can't forget this," Bookman added, his grip on the boy softening. "How are you going to be able to record history with such a bias?"

The red-haired boy nodded. He accepted that fact, of course; he wanted to be successful, maybe even make people proud. But it was going to be tough when his emotions and his sense of duty conflicted.

"I understand," he answered quietly, averting his eyes from the drying blood that dotted the floor.

"That's good," Bookman commended, hoping that he wasn't going to have to kick the facts into the boy. He jerked a finger at the book by Rabi's feet. "Pick that up. I told you to study, not play nurse."

With that, the old man shuffled back in the direction of the library without looking back to check if the boy was following. If he wanted to _be_ the successor, he was going to have to show the motivation himself.

Rabi wiped his face with his sleeve as he stooped down to retrieve the book, and fell into step behind Bookman without another word. Nobody had said this was going to be easy. He was going to have to battle within himself, and _learn_ indifference, so that he could live with merely watching from the sidelines.


End file.
